


Some Flowers Will Grow Anywhere They Can

by chicklette



Series: OT3verse [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Come Marking, Come Sharing, Dirty Talk, Hand Jobs, M/M, Multi, OT3, Rimming, THIS IS NOT A SAM-CENTRIC FIC, bucky barnes recovery, but it works for them, how the three of them figure things out, messy relationship stuff, please tell me if i missed something, probably not healthy, steve/sam established relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2019-02-12 12:03:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 10,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12958785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chicklette/pseuds/chicklette
Summary: “You want him,” Sam says.  “I know you two used to….”  He ends the sentence with a shrug.“You want me to go.”Sam’s face softens.  “Nah, man.  Just trying to figure out what I’m about to lose.”“I’m not – I won’t ask for that.  You make him smile.  I’m good.”“You make him smile too.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Cleaning up and cleaning out my OT3-verse folders. Hope it suits.

Sam’s got his head in the fridge while Steve checks the bacon in the oven.  Bucky watches from his perch at the table.  It’s comfortable to watch them like this, the casual way they touch one another – a hand on a hip, or a shoulder.  He hungers for it, but watching it is good too.  Watching eases some of the anxiety inside of him.

Steve’s laughing at something Sam said, and Bucky feels the corners of his mouth turn up.  Sam looks over and catches his eye, and then Sam’s smile falls.  “We’re out of OJ he says,” and looks at Steve.

“How is that possible?” Steve asks.  “I know we just bought some.”

Sam just looks at him.

“I hate you,” he says, already turning to leave.

“Go to Grossman’s on 10th.  It’s the good stuff.”

“I really hate you.”

Steve turns and looks at Bucky, brows up in question.  Bucky looks down and shakes his head.

“Okay, pal,” Steve says, and walks away, the front door shutting softly behind him.

Bucky’s been going out more, trying more.  It makes Steve happy.  But he knows he’s meant to stay this time, so he does.

“There’s a new carton on the bottom left,” Bucky says, meeting Sam’s eyes.

Sam nods.  “Yeah.” But doesn’t say anything else.

Bucky swallows hard against what’s coming.  He’s tried so hard.  So hard.

“You want him,” Sam says.  “I know you two used to….”  He ends the sentence with a shrug.

“You want me to go.”

Sam’s face softens.  “Nah, man.  Just trying to figure out what I’m about to lose.”

“I’m not – I won’t ask for that.  You make him smile.  I’m good.”

“You make him smile too.”

Bucky shakes his head.  He wants to crawl out of his skin.  “I’m not who he wants me to be.”

Sam’s chuckle is empty.  “And I thought you two were tight,” Sam says, shaking his head.  “He’d go to war for you.”

“He already did that once.  I didn’t want it then and I don’t want it now.”

“I won’t ask him to make a choice.  But he loves you.  You know that, right?”

“Sam,” he says, shifting in his seat.  The Soldier keeps pushing forward trying to fight or flight Bucky out of here, but if the Soldier wins now, he wins forever.  This is Steve and this is Sam and he wants them both and he won’t give them up.

“Sam,” he says again.  “When the – when I tried to kill you, you were just something between me and him. I just needed to get through you.”  He makes sure that he’s looking Sam in the eye, because that’s what a man does and Bucky is a man, or at least trying to be one, again.  “I don’t see you like that anymore.  He loves you, too.”

They’re staring at each other when Bucky hears footsteps in the hall.  He stands and goes to his room, the room that they never used, and laces up shoes.  He smiles at himself in the mirror, testing out the phrase on his face.  It’s like a grimace and it’ll have to do.

“Antsy,” he says, walking straight past the two of them.  “I have my key.”

They’re both sleeping when he comes back, the apartment dark and quiet.  Bucky stands over the two of them, Sam slumped over the arm of the couch and Steve curled into his side, both of them looking peaceful.

 Like he would ever try to take that.

 He reaches out to shake Sam’s shoulder, but runs his fingertips along Sam’s forearm instead. Steve must be down deep for him still be asleep.

It takes Sam a moment to come to, but when he does it’s all at once, and he doesn’t move, doesn’t disturb Steve.

Bucky just looks at him, feels the warm Sam skin under his fingers, sees Sam waiting for him to say something.  Instead Bucky nods, and then goes back to his room.


	2. Chapter 2

“He wants you,” Steve says. Sam tries to make out just what Steve means by that, and can’t, so he waits. If he waits long enough, the other guy pretty much almost always says something.

“If you want – if it’s – it’s okay. With me I mean. However you want – him or me or, or, or us. It’s okay. With me.”

Steve is turning red and red and red and Sam is trying to make sense of the him or me or us part of what he just said.

“So you walk in one day and I’ve got his dick in my mouth, and you’re cool?” Because, honestly, Steve.

Red and red and red. And that kind of blanking that that he does, just for a second.

“Okay. That’s – I could, uhm, watch? Or not! Just, uhm, it would be okay.”

They talk for another twenty minutes before Steve’s uncomfortable enough to adjust himself, covering the move with a cough – a cough – and Sam takes pity and unzips Steve’s pants. The man has no game.

“You’re okay with him doing this to me?” Sam asks, and Steve shivers.

“His hand wrapped around my dick, his tongue in my mouth, stroking me off, you want to watch that?”

“Sam,” Steve gasps. “Oh, oh.”

“Want to watch me on my knees for him, take his cock in my mouth, watch me suck him off like I do you, baby, is that what you want? See me open him up, put my dick right up inside of him, give it to him just like I give it to you? You want to watch us fuck?”

“Sam, Sam,” Steve says and then he comes, hard and hot and wet all over Sam’s hand.

“Fuck, fuck,” he says, still keyed up and tears at Sam’s jeans, ripping them open – literally ripping them, that fucker - and then he’s on his knees and giving Sam the best, most embarrassingly fast, blowjob that Sam has ever had.

“Captain America is goddamned filthy,” Sam says, once he’s caught his breath. Still, he doesn’t say no.

.

Steve kisses Sam before he leaves the house, always. Sometimes it’s just a quick peck, but other times, times like this morning, he gives Sam these long, slow kisses that aren’t going anywhere but still leave Sam a little breathless. Sam is still working off his daze, the daze of ‘Captain America is making out with me,’ when Bucky comes out into the living room.

Bucky doesn’t hesitate. Bucky is practically the Soldier again, the way he walks toward Sam without pause, eyes unwavering. He walks toward Sam and Sam takes a step back and then again until he’s at the wall and then Bucky has his mouth on his and before he can even think ‘the Winter Soldier is kissing me,’ Bucky pulls back.

“You taste,” he says, “like coffee.” Then he puts a hand on Sam’s cheek and his tongue in Sam’s mouth and he kisses him and kisses him. He runs a hand down Sam’s leg and hauls it up until Sam has one leg over Bucky’s hip and both arms around his neck and still Bucky is kissing him. Sam realizes with a start that his fucking nipples are hard, and Bucky is pressing into him just right – not grinding, not flexing, but the push, the pressure, it’s perfect.

Bucky finally pulls away and Sam knows he has never been kissed like that – wild, and tongue fucked, and he might need to sit down a damn minute.

Bucky stares at him. “You don’t drink coffee,” he says, and then kisses the corner of Sam’s mouth before walking back to his room and closing the door.

Oh. 

Damn.


	3. Chapter 3

“I kissed Sam today,” Bucky says, the minute Steve walks through the door.

“Okay,” Steve says, eyes flicking to Sam.

Sam blushes and rolls his eyes at himself. Steve swallows. Bucky watches.

“I don’t mind, pal,” Steve says. “If Sam doesn’t mind, I don’t mind.”

“I don’t think he minded,” Bucky says.

“I didn’t mind.”

“He tasted like coffee.”

Steve exhales, sharp. “Buck.”

Bucky goes to his room and closes the door. Steve sits down at the table and does the blank for a minute or five. Longest Sam’s ever seen.

Sam stands next to him, wraps a hand around Steve’s neck, and Steve finally looks up at him.

“I still don’t mind,” he says, and then leans his head against Sam’s stomach.

.

At dinner, later, everyone’s coltish.

Steve makes stir-fry with rice and noodles because Steve never met a carb he didn’t love.

“Gonna make me fat,” Sam says, because he’s about the lean proteins and quips when things get uncomfortable and he’s a party to it.

“That pack still weighs a good forty pounds,” Steve says. “Not like you’re not burning up the calories.” Steve doesn’t understand, and almost doesn’t trust, people who don’t love carbs.

“Are you very mad, Stevie,” Bucky says, eyes on his plate and his voice small.

Steve reaches out and Bucky flinches back, so Steve just rests his hand on the table, so Bucky can take it or not.

“’Member when you lost that job doing the milk deliveries?” Steve says. “I just got that job with the paper, and then Mr. Cudahy needed someone hauling the trash but didn’t wanna hire no Jane-crazy beaut like you, so he gives it to scrawny ‘ol Steve Rogers. An’ every night when it’s time to clean up that joint and haul the trash, James Buchanan Barnes is there at the back door, lookin’ to help out his best pal. And then the paper went under so I get let go, and I think we got about three dimes between us, you take us over to that bar on 9th and we drink all afternoon and into the night, remember that?”

Bucky doesn’t say anything. Sam’s watching it all though, because he’s never – never – heard the Brooklyn in Steve like that before. Because Steve never talks about the past. Ever. Because he’s got this look on his face like he’s eighty years and a few hundred miles away, and it’s soft, that look, and Sam wouldn’t ruin that for anything.

“Dom and Mikey came in later, they picked up some dough doin’ dice behind Peterson’s Market, and they was buyin’ drinks like they’d be shipping out the next day, only we didn’t know that they really were. We got home, late, and we were full of booze, and remember I had to sick up some of it, and I guess that made you sick up, so we spent half the night hanging off the toilet bowl, sicking up all that free booze and peanuts. Ya remember that, Buck?”

Bucky’s staring at Steve like he’s a ghost about to float away, and Sam knows right then that no matter what else happens, he’s never going to have that with either one of them. Never going to be that inside. But then, he’s never going to be that inside with anyone. 

Riley’s gone, and part of Sam keens for him in that moment.

Stretching his fingers so that they brush Steve’s, Bucky says “Yeah, I remember, pal.”

“Figure if I can share the worst of it, the sicking up in the toilet all night, I can share the best of it, too. Ain’t nothing I wouldn’t share with you, Buck. But you know this ain’t up to me.” 

Steve straightens, and casts a long look at Sam. “You want Sam,” he says. “You talk to Sam about that. You want something else, you talk to us both.” He snakes a hand over to Sam, squeezes his thigh, and rests his hand there.

Bucky stares at Steve’s hand on Sam’s thigh, then at Sam for a minute, all the questions in his eyes. Sam finds a smile for him, because Bucky needs it and because Steve needs it, but most of all because he wants it. Sam wants it. It’s greedy, he thinks, and it’s going to go off in his face and leave a bunch of broken stuff behind, but he wants it for as long as he can get it.


	4. Chapter 4

They’re sitting at the dinner table.  Steve made pan roasted chicken with lemon sauce and the best fucking potatoes Sam has ever had.  They are crispy on the outside and fluffy inside and someone needs to write a fucking sonnet to these damned potatoes.  Sam is contemplating taking another spoonful of them from the pan when—

“Sam thinks if we have sex that you won’t want him anymore,” Bucky says, watching Steve in that Bucky way, that ‘this is very serious and we have to  _talk_  about it’ way.

“Bucky!” Sam hisses, as Steve says “Whaaaat?”  It’s long and drawn out like that, like he’s hearing sounds and trying to figure out if they’re words and if so, what they mean.

“Dammit, Buck,” Sam says, but most of the heat is gone.  Steve is staring at him, blanks for a second and comes back.

“Sam?”

“Oh, hell,” Sam says, because fuck Bucky.  He’s right, he’s completely right to make them talk about this, but fuck him all the same.

Sam gets up and gets a beer and thanks the maker for once that he’s not a super serum soldier because - haha - those two can’t get drunk.

“Look,” he says, after taking a deep, healthy swig.  “Look.  It’s – you two, you have this, this thing.  And it’s a  _good_  thing,” he says, meeting both of their eyes.  “And I don’t want to get in the middle of it.  I am not, you know, your peanut butter.  You don’t need me in the middle of this.  You two will figure it out.”

Steve winces and Sam blanches.  Like, feels the blood kind of ebb from his face because a few minutes ago he was enjoying the best potatoes in the world with his boyfriend and a half and now he’s managed to escort himself right out of their lives. It’s not exactly what he’d been planning when he sat down for dinner.

“Steven,” Bucky whines, and stares at him, one of those ‘you made a mess’ stares where he’s talking and Steve is listening and seriously?  No one calls him Steven.

He can see Steve processing everything, emotions flitting across his face, and you know what, maybe he doesn’t have to talk everything out after all.  This is shitty.  The first time Steve kissed him, they were breathless and laughing and Steve just leaned up and kissed him, soft brush of lips before pulling back, looking awed and not a little terrified.  Sam had been pining, pining for weeks by that time because Steve is Steve.  He is wholly decent and Captain America and he rides a goddamn Harley and doesn’t swear much outside of the bedroom and he thinks shwarma is pretty much the greatest thing on earth.  He looked like sex all the time and so Sam had fisted his hand into Steve’s t-shirt and pulled him in for a real kiss, a fucking Sam-I-Am kiss, and Steve gasped before giving as good as he got.

And now Sam’s going to lose that, and he’s not even mad about it.  Steve used to talk about Bucky in low, lost tones.  Bucky Barnes was the goddamned love of Steve’s life, and Sam was genuinely happy for him, but he could still be pissed about losing.

Pushing back from the table he moves to stand, but Bucky’s hand is on him like a shot.  He grips Sam’s wrist with his human hand and tugs, pulls, until Sam sits back down.  Bucky shoves all of the food away with his left hand, his plate, the pans, the bowl of carrots and then slides up onto the table.  He looks at Sam and drops his wrist, then scoots until he’s in front of Steve.

Steve looks up at him, wonderstruck.  This is the closest they’ve been in a really long time.  In decades, Sam thinks.  A lifetime.

Bucky pushes himself forward, hands and knees, and without hesitating pushes his lips against Steve’s.  Steve grunts and Bucky holds still, holds and holds and neither of them move and then Sam sees it.  Bucky is trembling.  Bucky is crying, slick, warm tracks down from the corners of his eyes.

Sam reaches out, says Bucky’s name low, soft, wary.  He strokes a hand down Bucky’s arm and Bucky melts a little, softens, and pulls away.

“Can’t,” he says, looking at Steve, looking sad, lashes wet and eyes red.  “I want to.  I  _can’t_.”  He turns then, toward Sam, his eyes pleading and Sam understands what Steve is about because Steve, he might be Captain America, but Bucky, he’s just some lost kid, stormy blue eyes that are begging Sam for something and all Sam wants to do is give it to him.  He tugs on Bucky’s arm he comes, knee right in Sam’s plate, knocking the bottle of beer over, and he dives for Sam, pressing his head into Sam’s neck, folded into his lap, trembling in his arms.  Sam brings both arms around Bucky and says “I got you, man.  I got you.”

He meets Steve’s eyes, his miserable face, and then Bucky reaches out behind him, reaches for Steve.  Steve reaches out with his hand and Bucky grabs, pulls and that’s how Sam ends up with a lapful of Bucky and an arm around Steve and the best potatoes on the planet ground into the thigh of his jeans.

As meals go, he’s had worse.

.

Bucky retreats to his room that night, and stays for most of the next day.  Steve didn’t even try going to bed, but Sam, being a regular human being, Sam slept the sleep of the damned.  That is to say, he didn’t sleep well.

It’s mid-afternoon the next day and Sam is on the couch, surfing the internet and really just trying to keep himself awake.  Steve is putting a roast in the oven and Bucky makes an appearance for the first time since he went to bed the night before.  Sam watches as Bucky takes Steve by the wrist and brings him to the couch, setting him next to Sam.  He makes Sam take Steve’s hand, then backs up and looks at the floor in front of them.

“Every time they put me under,” he starts, and Sam thinks Bucky is a whole lot smarter than they give him credit for.  Steve’s hand tightens on Sam’s, knuckles turning white.

“Every time they put me under, I saw your face.”  Bucky doesn’t look up, but they all know who he’s talking to.  “I saw your face getting smaller and smaller and I knew I was dying.  I knew I was falling, and, and dying, and I knew that it was okay because I saw your face when it happened, and I knew that Steve’s got this – it’s okay because Steve’s got this.”

“Buck–”

“And every time I woke up I thought, ‘Steve,’ and I had no idea what that meant, who you were, but every time they pulled me out of the ice, before they wiped me and gave me my next mission, I thought, ‘Steve.’  And it hurt.  Just thinking your name, it fucking hurt, because it was something I wanted and it was something I couldn’t have because there, in that place, I never got anything I wanted except to sometimes go back under, so I could die again and know it was going to be okay.”

Bucky lifts his arm, the metal one, and then drops it.  His body lurches, like he’s going somewhere, and then he stills.

“I’m not gonna be that guy again, Stevie.  I’m not gonna be the Bucky you knew and I think I’d rather cut my other arm off than make you mad or sad, but it’s gonna happen anyway because I don’t know who that other guy was.  And Sam,” he says, and lifts his eyes to Sam’s face.  Sam holds himself still and it’s maybe the hardest thing he’s ever done.

“I never saw Sam’s face when I died.  And he don’t look at me like he’s waiting for someone I’m not.  And you love him, and–” And this is where Sam’s heart climbs into his throat, because it’s true – Steve does love Sam and Sam does love Steve and it hits him hard.  “And you’re so good, Stevie, you’re so good, and you love him and he’s so good, you both are, you’re good and I just want, I want – I just…”

Steve doesn’t let go of Sam’s hand when he stands, walks right over the coffee table and takes Bucky in his arms.  Sam comes around the flank and Bucky is right in the middle of them.  Right in the middle and crying his damn eyes out and Steve is holding him, holding on to both of them and Sam can see that even if he’s on the outside of this right now, he’s still the damn peanut butter.

Goddammit, Barnes.


	5. Chapter 5

Two nights later Sam and Steve are watching tv.  Not watching, really, but letting it play while they sit in the half-dark, letting the sounds and images wash over them.  There’s war movies Steve’s asked to see that Sam will never play.  There is no good reason on God’s green earth for Steve Rogers to ever see Schindler’s List.  

They’re watching Star Wars, because Steve’s never seen it and it’s a classic.

“I mean, you do know there are actual aliens, right?” Steve asks.

“Yeah, but, this is long, long ago in a galaxy far, far away.”

Steve gives him a side-eyed grin and goes back to watching the movie.  

They watch as Bucky approaches.  He has a grey and white kitten on his shoulder and is wearing soft black pants and one of Sam’s old Army t’s, a black, zip-up hoodie open to his waist, hair up in a messy knot.

He stands in front of them, stills, and then turns to pace away.

“Buck?” Steve asks.  “What’s doing?”

Turning, he approaches again, pauses as if steeling himself, and then stills.  “I was - can I – never mind.”  He turns to pace away again.

“Which one is that?” Sam asks, and Bucky turns back toward them, scooping the kitten from his shoulder.

“This is Axl.  He’s the biggest and kind of bosses the rest of them around.”

Bucky’d rescued a litter of kittens  - Sam has no idea from where, and frankly, he’s stopped asking questions when he knows the answer will give him bad dreams.  He’s “fostering” them, but Sam’s eighty percent sure that the six little puffballs have found their forever homes.  Goddamned pains in his ass.

Sam slides away from Steve, creating a pocket between them.  Bucky looks at the pocket, then at Sam, and gives him a soft smile, one that makes Sam feel warm all over.  

Bucky sits, kicking his feet up on the coffee table and plopping Axl down into his lap.  Axl starts crawling, investigating Steve and Sam in turn, before finally settling on the back of the couch, nestling into the hood of Bucky’s sweater, his fierce purr rumbling above the soft sounds of the television.

An hour later, the Death Star has been destroyed, Axl the kitten is sleeping peacefully, and Sam is holding Bucky’s hand, leaning his head on Bucky’s shoulder.  Bucky is soft and relaxed, his head on Steve’s shoulder, and Steve is holding Bucky’s other hand.  

It isn’t much, this small act of physical intimacy.  It’s nothing more than any kid would do with their folks, any couple would do on their second date, any close friends would do with each other.  But when Sam peeks over and sees Steve’s blissed out face, looking down at his fingers twined with Bucky’s, Sam realizes, it’s everything.

.

Over the next few weeks, there’s more.  Bucky continues to seek out Sam when he’s alone, pressing against, him, opening his mouth and taking Sam in, letting Sam touch him, kiss him, stroke his cock until Bucky comes, slick and wet all over Sam.  Bucky’s so raw in those moments, so real.  HIs soft grunts as Sam takes him higher, the feral look in his eyes as he stalks toward Sam, takes Sam into his mouth, lets Sam shoot against his tongue, opening his mouth so Sam can see.  Sam may be developing a Bucky kink, and he is all kinds of okay with that.

But Bucky doesn’t just seek out Sam.  There are quiet moments when he finds Steve, alone and sketching, napping in his big bed, soaked with sweat at the gym, and Bucky finds ways of pressing into Steve.  He takes Steve’s hand, holds it in his own.  Sits next to him, pressed shoulder to thigh, brushes an imaginary lock of hair from Steve’s forehead.  Things that make Steve’s eyes flutter closed, just for a moment, before he opens them and carries on.  

It’s a warm spring day and there are six new kittens in the house, raising hell in the way that only eight ounce balls of fluff can.  Steve is drinking a glass of water in the kitchen and Sam is reading in the living room.  A kitten bounds up to Steve, stands on the toe of his shoe and cries up at him before launching himself up Steve’s leg.  

“Where do you think you’re going?” Steve says, plucking a small orange furball from his thigh.  “I’m not a climbing wall.”  He holds the kitten up, balancing it in his palm, holding it with both hands so that it’s secure.  The kitten cries at him, tiny cry, and he laughs, before bending to place it on the floor.  It scampers away and Bucky, watching from the doorway, makes a noise.

“Buck–” Whatever he was going to say is lost though, because Bucky comes to him, presses his face to Steve’s chest, his body against Steve’s, and his arms around Steve’s waist.

“Buck,” Steve says softly, arms coming to rest around Bucky’s shoulders.  They stand like that, silent, until the world around them stills and quiets, holding each other tighter and tighter, promising each other, skin to skin, that they’ll never let the other go.  Sam sets down his reading, watches from the living room, as Bucky presses his face deeper into Steve’s chest.  Like Steve can hide him from his demons.  Like Steve is the answer.  And maybe he is.  Maybe he’s Bucky’s answer.  

He doesn’t know how long it is before Bucky draws away, looks up at Steve with wet eyes and strokes a hand against Steve’s jaw.   He presses forward, presses his lips against Steve’s and this isn’t like that terrible first kiss, the one from before.  This is soft, and wanted, and somehow holy.

Sam can see from the way that everything on Steve softens that this is what he’s been waiting for.  The tension that he hadn’t even known he was carrying slides away with one press of Bucky’s lips.

The kiss moves on.  It goes from soft press to soft slide, Steve cupping Bucky’s face in his hands like he is so, so precious.  Bucky with his fingers in Steve’s clothes, a plea to hold on, to never let him go.  It never becomes heated.  There’s no fire there, but maybe it’s hotter than that.  Maybe it’s an ember, burning fierce and so controlled that no one can see it until they feel the burn.  

So no, it’s not a passionate kiss.  Sam doesn’t find himself palming an erection watching his two lovers wrapped up in one another.  He finds himself searching his heart, wondering where the jealousy that he expected to feel has gone, because man, it isn’t there.  Instead, his heart is swelling, glowing, because these two men, men that he loves with growing fervor, these two men are finding what they need, and finding it in each other.  And it is absolutely beautiful. And Sam gets to watch.

When the kiss ends, Bucky sighs, and presses his face again to Steve’s chest.  

What they’re doing, the three of them - it’s not healthy.  It can’t be healthy.  But it’s what they all want.  What they all need.  

Sam’s done with blinking twice. He’ll hold it ‘til it burns his skin, or ‘til it makes him whole.  Either way, it’s  _his._  


	6. Interlude

“Sam likes girls.”  Bucky says it with a curl to the corner of his lip, flicking his eyes up to Steve.

Steve puts down his fork and studies Bucky for a moment, then grins.  “Sam likes boys, too.”

Oh, fuck them both.

“Bucky likes girls,” Sam says, a little tit for tat.

“Girls like Steve,” Bucky says.

“Steve likes boys,” Steve says, because, come _on_.  "These two boys, in particular."

“Steve liked Peggy,” Bucky says, his eyes softening and the tease coming out of his voice.

“Peggy was special,” Steve says, his voice going soft as well.  The table is quiet for a moment.

“Bucky never liked girls,” Bucky says.

Steve studies him for a moment, head cocked to the side.  “But Bucky likes Sam,” Steve says, the play coming back into his voice.

“And Steve,” Bucky says, around a forkful of pasta. 

“Sam likes pasta,” Sam says, because really, homemade alfredo sauce is something to thank the maker for, for true and for certain.


	7. Chapter 7

Sex knocks Steve out like a light.  Sam had been hoping for it, been counting on it, because super solider or not, the dark shadows under his eyes weren’t doing him any favors.

Sam got it, kind of.  He’s tried to picture seeing Riley again, seeing him and trying to come to terms with it while Riley tries to kill him.  Sam having to defend himself against his best friend, his first love, what kind of gut punch that might feel like.  But he knows he doesn’t know – can’t know what it might be like. 

Just like he can’t know what it must be like watching the way Bucky is with Sam.  Those touches that look so easy, but Sam knows Bucky practices when he’s alone.  The way he trains the metal hand to be soft, soft, matching the human hand.  The way he mimics Sam sometimes, like he’s trying to be Sam because he thinks…what, that Sam is right in Steve’s mind? 

“Shit,” he mutters, and pours himself a glass of water.  Fucking Steve into oblivion is thirsty work. 

He doesn’t know why, but he’s surprised when Bucky comes up behind him.  Sam’s still naked, but he can feel that Bucky’s wearing clothes – pants, a shirt at least, something soft.  He pushes Sam up against the counter, bracketing his arms around him, pressing against him from behind.  He runs his nose along Sam’s neck, licks at the juncture of his shoulder. 

“He smells,” Bucky says, “so fucking good on you.”

The words slam him in the stomach.  He likes Bucky, hell, he could see himself falling for Bucky, given just the right shove, but this?  No. 

Hell no.

“Fuck you, Barnes,” he says, turning to face Bucky. 

Bucky takes a step back and Sam sees it, the moment of confusion because he’s allowed to touch Sam like this and he likes to touch Sam like this so why is Sam mad?  The understanding does nothing to quell Sam’s anger.

“You’re not going to fuck him through me, you know.  He’s never going to feel it, and fuck you for trying.”

Bucky backs away, eyes wide, and Sam goes back to bed.  Steve snuffles as Sam eases in beside him, before turning to throw an arm over Sam and pulling him in close.  It’s still hours before Sam finally drops off.

.

Nat keeps a studio not far from the tower.  It’s in a warehouse, though Tony installed screens on all the walls, so JARVIS can make it seem like you’re on a mountain top, if that’s what you want.  

Sam doesn’t want. 

Today, he’s surrounded by mirrors.  He and Bucky are sparring, Bucky neatly pulling his punches, Sam carefully avoiding the memory of Bucky pulling him from the sky. 

“One more,” Sam says, and dodges the blow that Bucky flings his way.  There’s a complicated move with elbows and legs, and Sam ends up on his back, Bucky straddling his thighs.  Bucky leans forward, his movements gone from lightning fast to slow and easy, telegraphing everything well in advance.  He gives Sam every chance to say no.

I did that, Sam thinks, I made him so wary.  He regrets the new caution, but he can’t regret drawing that particular line.  He’s not anyone’s secondhand fuck.

When he’s close enough, Bucky runs his nose along Sam’s neck, nuzzles him and tucks a kiss behind Sam’s ear.  Sam holds his breath, waiting for whatever Bucky will say next.

It doesn’t come.

Instead, Bucky eases himself closer to Sam, almost fully flush against his body, before Sam brings his arms around him. 

He never knows when Bucky’s going to do this, come at him with skin and mouth and need.  Bucky shakes with it sometimes.

Bucky’s kissing everywhere but Sam’s mouth, hot, openmouthed kisses, tongue lapping over flushed, sweaty skin.  Heat flares low in Sam’s belly.  It’s the way Bucky is with him, pinning him, caging him, and taking such sweet, sweet care with him.  It’s irresistible.

“Hey,” Sam says, and pulls Bucky’s head back.  Bucky stares, skittish, and when Sam angles his head and brings Bucky’s mouth to his, he feels Bucky shiver, once, soft, before he looses himself on Sam’s mouth.  He kisses Sam the way Sam loves to be kissed, and Sam wonders sometimes how Bucky does that.  Does he adapt to what Sam wants, is he a mimic?  Or does he kiss like that because that’s who Bucky is?  Doesn’t matter in the end, it still gets Sam riled and wanting, every damn time.

“Yeah,” Sam gasps, before Bucky dives in for more.  His shoulders are pinned to the smooth wooden floor, and the sweat rolls off of the both of them, catching in their clothes, puddling beneath them.

Bucky rolls his hips against Sam, rolls his hips and Sam feels him hard, feels them both hard.  He hooks a leg over Bucky’s hip, thrusts up, up, god he wants to get inside.

He does, in a way.  Bucky slides down, hooks Sam’s right leg over Bucky’s left shoulder and pulls Sam’s shorts down, catching Sam’s hard cock in his mouth.

“Ho--” Sam says because he wasn’t expecting this, but then Bucky is on him, wet and soft and hot and sucking, Jesus, where did he  _ learn _ that?  It doesn’t take long until he’s coming, Bucky pulling it out of him, literally sucking and Sam is frantic with the oh, yes, yes,  _ yes!  _

 

Bucky raises on his knees while Sam catches his breath and Sam watches him with lazy eyes as Bucky strokes his own cock, watches as his body tightens, shakes and then watches as Bucky comes all over Sam’s thighs.  He falls forward then, resting in his own mess, resting on top of Sam (but not really, not pinning him with weight, just resting over him, knees and shoulder taking the weight, Sam just getting the soft and the man of him).

 

“Good?” Bucky asks.

“God, yes,” Sam pants.  Then, “You should have let me, I wanted--”

“Nah,” Bucky says, and Sam can feel the curve of Bucky’s smile against his throat.  “Besides,” Bucky says, running his nose along Sam’s neck.  “I smell really good on you, too.”

Sam huffs a laugh, because it’s funny and it’s fucking terrifying too.  He never wanted to get in the middle of those two, never wanted to be in the way of whatever might come.  But he can’t bring himself to move, and at some point, they’re going to go through him.  He hopes he’s still standing when they’re done.


	8. Chapter 8

“Look, Sam, I know this is weird, but, I’m glad it’s you.  I’m glad he’s comfortable, with you.”

Sam shrugs, not really sure what to say.  He’s pretty sure Hallmark doesn’t make a card for “I’m glad your ninety-year old crush who can brutally murder us all with his bare hands feels safe enough to get off with me, too,” so he doesn’t say anything.

“It’s just--” Steve starts, then pauses.  “What’s he like,” Steve asks, and the colors and turns away.  “Oh, God, I’m sorry – that’s so, God, Sam, I’m so sorry.”

It crushes him a little then, for Steve, for Bucky.  Hell, for all of them, really.  He’s tried imagining being in Steve’s shoes, wondering how he’d feel if it was Riley seeking out Steve, Riley kissing Steve’s mouth while Sam waited in the metaphorical wings.  It makes him want to punch high in his literal wings, get out of the atmosphere if he can, get away from the ache that rises in his chest over just thinking about it.

Steve’s got his back to Sam, looking out the window, but not.  Sam comes up behind him, wraps his arms around Steve, presses kisses to his shoulder. 

Steve pulls away and turns to face Sam, and it’s one of the things that he loves about Steve.  The man doesn’t flinch from what’s right, not ever.  It’s damn near the sexiest thing about the man, and given those blue eyes, the pecs, there’s a lot of sexy going on there already.

“It’s just--“  Steve hesitates, runs a hand across the back of his neck.  “Me and Bucky, we never really…. It was just – we were just kids, you know, hand jobs and a couple of kisses.

Standing back, he rakes his eyes over Steve, letting his words sink in, not quite sure he’s getting it.

“But when you guys were overseas, you got some time, right?”  Because no one is that much of a boy scout.  No one who looks like Steve Rodgers looks is this much of a damn boy scout.

Steve looks away and that’s all the answer Sam’s getting.

“Steven Grant Rogers.  Are you telling me you were an ass virgin when they pulled you out of the ice?”

And, oh, yeah, that flush.  Sam wants to tear Steve’s shirt off just so he can see Steve blushing right down to his pecs.  Sam crowds into him then, running his nose along Steve’s neck, kissing just behind his ear and no, he is not going to think about where he got that move.  “’til when?” he asks, his voice thickening.  He’s pretty sure he knows the answer to this one.

Steve brings a hand around to Sam’s waist, fingers digging into the small of his back.  He brushes his lips across Sam’s, not a kiss, just a pass.  “’til you,” he says, looking in Sam’s eyes.

And that’s what breaks Sam’s hold on himself.  The idea that Steve let him…let him do everything, and never told him it was his first time, God.  It’s a claim, in the mess that is the three of them, Steve and Sam and Bucky, it’s a claim that something here is his, and his alone. 

He puts a hand at the back of Steve’s head, pulls him in for a long, dirty kiss.  When they break for air, Steve presses his forehead against Sam’s, his fingers still working to pull him close.

“Sam,” Steve whispers, and yeah, Sam’s got this. 

The words that have been said, their meaning, turn over and over in Sam’s mind.  He doesn’t know what the rules are, what’s crossing the line anymore.  He knows he has something that both of these men want – need – and he knows he wants to give it to them.  He doesn’t even care about the blowback.  Hell, in their line of work, how long do any of them have, anyway?

“I’ll show you,” Sam whispers, and walks Steve toward the bed.  “Let me show you.” 

A soft whine from Steve, and then he’s on his back, pushing back toward the headboard, watching Sam with huge eyes, waiting to be told what to do next.  Sam settles in, his hips in the V of Steve’s, his mouth doing filthy things, kissing deep and hard and dirty, until Steve’s as riled up as Sam had been, just the other day.

“Sam, Sam,” Steve pants, and he’s thrusting up at Sam, and Sam knows him, knows he’s already so close.

“I know, Steve, I know.  Gonna do this just right.  Gonna make this just right for you.” 

“Always do, Sam, God, you always do.”

Steve throws his head back, baring his neck, and Sam bites down it, his tongue licking away the scrape before he makes himself move on.  He takes in Steve’s skin, the heat of it, he runs so hot, and mouths his way down to Steve’s cock, pushing his jeans down his hips, nosing between his thighs to smell the musk of him before taking Steve in his mouth.  And yeah, his tongue might know a new curl or two, and he doesn’t hesitate to show Steve his new skills, lapping and sucking, and then pinning his hips down so that Sam can take him all the way.  When Steve comes he looks at Sam with dazed eyes, watching as Sam kneels over him, stroking his own cock, arching and coming before falling down into Steve’s arms, letting himself be held the way he held Bucky.

God, he thinks, we are so fucked up.


	9. More Kittens

The moment he opens the front door, Sam in speaking.  This is never a good sign.

“How was your day, dear,” Sam asks, his voice full of un-Sam-like sarcasm.

Steve looks around with a wary eye.  “Fine, darling, how was yours?”

“Oh,” he says, sporting a grin with a tinge of mania to it.  “My day was fantastic.  Do you want to know why?  Ask me why, Steve.”

Steve’s brow furrows and he sets down his shield.  Nothing seems too out of place in the front of the house.  He doesn’t smell fire, or the sharp electrical tang that means Bucky’s rewiring something essential.  The carpet seems to be dry, which is a relief because it’s new and he’d promised Sam that there would be no more aquariums. 

He turns to face Sam, unable to hide his cringe.  “Okay, Sam.  Why was your day fantastic?”

“Mike, get your tiny ass back – AD, not you too.  Come on guys, we talked about this.  MCA, buddy, no.  Come on.  Come ON!”

Steve looks down the hall where the noise is coming from and groans.  Three orange kittens, maybe eight weeks old, come bounding down the hallway, one wrapped in something that looks suspiciously like Sam’s favorite pair of boxer briefs. 

Steve closes his eyes and sighs before turning to Sam.

“Sam--”

“Save it Rogers.  You promised.  You promised there would be no more kittens.  No more ducks, no more goddamned pigs.  You promised.  You said, I, Steven Grant Rogers,”

“—Steven Grant Rogers do hereby promise Samuel Thomas Wilson that Bucky Barns will not bring another live animal into Sam’s house.  I know.  I didn’t know about this, I promise.”

Sam stands back, arms crossed against his chest, and gives Steve the evil eye.  “I got news for you, Rogers.  Your promises don’t mean jack.”

“Hey, Steve,” Bucky says, before plopping down in the middle of the living room floor.  The kittens swarm him instantly, climbing up over his legs, balancing on his knee, scrabbling for purchase between the plates in his metal arm. 

“Buck,” he says.  “Come on, man.  We promised Sam.  What are you doing?”

Bucky looks up at him with those clear, gray-blue eyes and Steve knows it doesn’t matter what he says next.  He’ll give Bucky damn near anything he wants.

“I know, Steve.  I know.  Just, Vonnie doesn’t have room for them and she found them in Brooklyn.  Brooklyn, Stevie, and someone has to take care of them, right?  If we don’t, how are they gonna learn about being good with people?  They gotta learn the rules so that when they get their real humans they don’t piss ‘em off too much and end up abandoned again, right Stevie?”  Bucky turns to one of the kittens, orange with a white smudge on his nose, and rubs his nose against the cat’s. 

“Buck,”  Steve tries to keep his voice soft, impress on Bucky that this really is Sam’s house, and he can’t keep bringing stray animals home.

“I know, Stevie,” he says, plucking one of the kittens from his shoulder and setting the other safely away before standing.

“Sam, I know.”  He holds the one with the smudgy nose to his chest, lays his pleading eyes on Sam.  “They don’t know how to be with people, though.  We gotta teach ‘em so they know that the world’s an okay place, so they know it’s safe, and not scary, right?”

Steve watches Sam and sees the moment that Sam’s heart breaks, the moment that he understands the kinship Bucky feels with the kittens.  He goes soft all over, his shoulders come down from their set, his knees flex a little, and the corner of his mouth curls up. 

“Yeah, okay, Buck.”  He steps forward to give the one in Bucky’s arms.  “What’s his name?”

Bucky grins and it’s like high voltage right to Steve’s heart. 

“This is MCA,” he says, giving the kitten a scratch behind the ears.

Sam rolls his eyes.  “You gotta be kidding me.  Bucky, you did not name these kittens--”

“What?” he says, throwing one arm wide.  “They’re three punks from New York.  It’s perfect.”

Sam shakes his head.  “Barnes.”

“Come on, Sam,” he says.  The kitten cries.

Sam looks up.  “I hate you.”

.

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unadulterated filth to follow....

Steve’s fresh out of the shower, toweling his hair dry, when Sam opens the bathroom door.  He closes the door behind him, eyes soft as the steam billows around them.

Steve opens his mouth to ask what Sam wants but then closes it when he sees the way Sam’s looking at him.  

“You were beautiful out there today,” Sam says, his voice soft and sincere, the way it gets when he can’t hide the depth of what he feels for Steve.  It’s different from when he wants Steve to know it - different from when he says “I love you,” right out loud.  

Steve ducks his head.  He’d been sparring with Clint, then Sam, and then Bucky joined the fray, his body lithe and fluid in the fight, dancing death as Steve ducked and rolled, the pair of them moving first against each other and then with each other, reading one another’s minds, they way they did, once upon a time.

“You were beautiful,” Sam says again, and moves to put his mouth on Steve’s, lips trapping Steve’s before licking into his mouth, leaving no question about what Sam wants. “He thinks so, too.”

Steve’s breath catches and he draws back, searching Sam’s eyes.

Shrugging, Sam says “Maybe.  Maybe not.  Don’t get your hopes up.”

Batting his lashes, Steve grins.  “What if they’re already up?”

“Depends on what you’re hoping for,” Sam says, crowding into Steve’s space, fingers already pressing against damp skin.  

Steve leans forward and licks the shell of Sam’s ear.  “I did promise I’d let you try,” he says, then steps away, wrapping the towel around his waist and stepping out of the bathroom without a backward glance.

“Oh, fuck you, Rogers,” Sam whispers into steam.  

Still, he can’t deny that he’s already half hard as he follows Steve into their bedroom.

.

It’s not what he expected.

He didn’t know what to expect, a vague sense of shame, something dirty and wrong maybe, and maybe he did for that first minute.  That first, wet minute where his entire body was tense, where he had to force himself to stay still, relax his muscles and not kick at Sam, not flinch and run and hide someplace small, private.  So he held through that, and then the next minute, where he wasn’t actively fighting his instincts to flee, and then the minute after that, when he actually allowed himself to feel it, sweet, wet and soft and Jesus Christ it was fucking beautiful.

It wasn’t like fingers, always blunt and a little rough, no matter how slow Sam tries to go, how easy he tries to be when he opens Steve up.  It definitely isn’t like his own fingers, thick and stretching past the burn to actual pain in his rush to get to the sweet.  And it’s definitely not like the smooth, blunt head of Sam’s cock, the way it presses and presses, soft and hot and unrelenting until Steve’s ready to break down and cry with needing Sam to just hurry up and get in there.

This is different.  Hotter, softer, more intense, too gentle and not enough but so close, so close to being everything that Steve won’t move an inch, won’t twitch at all if it means that Sam will just keep going, just…don’t stop, oh, God, Sam, don’t stop.

He floats on it, the sensation of too much and not quite enough, feels Sam’s big hands holding him open, stroking down his thighs, squeezing his ass, the way his fingertips rest at the small of Steve’s back, nails scratching sometimes down his spine.  He floats there awash in the mindless pleasure, the pleasure that is distinctly sexual, but has no destination in mind.  He can’t come like this.  As hair trigger as he sometimes is, he can’t come without something more, and Sam isn’t giving him more, he’s just giving him this, and Steve thinks he can spend the rest of his life like this, floating on the waves of Sam’s tongue inside of him, gasping and panting, please, please Sam, please don’t stop.

He doesn’t care that he’s babbling, doesn’t care that he’s being loud, doesn’t even care that Bucky can probably hear him, something that usually brings up a whole new series of feelings of shame and guilt and need.  He doesn’t care about any of that until he feels the caress against his cheek.  Rough hands and soft lips pressing against his face and when his eyes flutter open it’s Bucky there, his lips pressing against Steve’s cheek but oh, Jesus, Sam is still going and Steve almost sobs when Sam finally – finally – lets a finger slip inside of him, into where he’s already soft and wet and hot and dying, dying for something more.

Bucky says, “Stevie,” and Steve gasps, pressing back against Sam and Bucky sucks the gasp right out of his mouth, licks in, bites at Steve’s bottom lip, cups his cheek and presses his tongue, hot and slick and Bucky right into Steve’s mouth.  Steve whines, his fingers coming around to clutch at Bucky, dig into his shoulder, fist his shirt, keep him close even as Sam taps Steve’s flank, pulls his hips up and pushes his thighs wider apart.

He’s too far gone, and this is too much of what he wants, Bucky there, letting Steve pull off his shirt and Sam pushing his fingers inside, bumping up against that spot and making a perfect mess of him, all slick and wet with spit and lube, so that Steve has to fuck back against Sam’s fingers and Sam chuckles and Bucky fists Steve’s hair, drawing another one of those shocked gasps just before Steve moans into Bucky’s mouth.

“Such a perfect doll, baby, you know that?” Bucky says into his ear, and Steve preens even as a hot flush of embarrassment slides over him.  As much as he’s a man, he wants to be Bucky’s babydoll, god does he want that.  Later he’ll think it’s something to do with his first sexual experiences, with how he used to beat off thinking about the way Bucky would talk to his girls sometimes, that grin he’d have for them, and then later, how Bucky would whisper in his ear, low and sweet as he touched Steve’s cock and made him come, calling him baby and doll and how those words always made him feel special and dirty at once.  In the moment though, all he knows is that each time Bucky says those words, Steve gets a little harder, comes a little more undone.

“Turn over for me, baby,” Bucky says, and Sam’s fingers slide out of Steve before his hands guide him over, turning him onto his back.  He feels Sam’s hands stroke down his thighs, cupping his balls before stroking his cock once, twice, and -  

“Jesus, Sam, stop.  I’ll come.”

“So come,” he says and Bucky’s got his mouth on Steve’s while Sam strokes him, sliding his fingers back inside and twisting the way he knows Steve loves.

Steve huffs a whine and Bucky draws back, dances his fingers down Steve’s chest, and leans over to kiss Sam, their mouths open and Steve can see their tongues together and he comes, not even thinking about anything but how good they look together.

Bucky drags his fingers through Steve’s come, gathers some on his fingertip and slides it into the kiss he’s sharing with Sam and Steve’s balls tighten up all over again as a little more come drools out of his cock.

“He liked that,” Sam says, his fingers flexing in Steve’s ass.

Bucky hums, does it again, before sliding a hand down to his own cock, pressing against it through his jeans. He reaches for his discarded shirt and wipes away the mess on Steve’s stomach before his hand strays again to his dick, palming himself through the jeans, fingers reaching up to undo the button.

“Let me,” Steve says, reaching for Bucky’s pants.  Bucky stands back and lets Steve open his jeans, drag them down over his ass to the tops of his thighs.  He breathes out, looking at Bucky and Bucky watches him, lifts his arms and laces his fingers behind his head, letting Steve look – and touch – his fill.

Steve’s never had this – never been allowed to stare at Bucky, take in the hard lines of his body, the curve of his cock without pretending at least to be looking at something else.  His left hand reaches out and traces a line down Bucky’s chest, fingers slipping into the ridges of his abs.  His right hand reaches for Sam and Sam laces their fingers together, grounding him as he looks and looks and looks.

He can’t name the look on Bucky’s face, something caught between a blush and a tease, a little bit of his ‘aw, shucks’ with a little more of his ‘hell yeah.’

“I love you,” he says, overwhelmed with it all of a sudden.  Bucky leans down and cups his cheek, dropping soft kisses against his lips.  Steve tightens his grip on Sam’s hand and pulls, Sam tumbling down into the V of Steve’s hips.  The look on his face is soft and fond, and Steve leans up to kiss him as well.

“Sam,” he says, and Sam’s eyes go softer still.

“I know, baby.”

Bucky leans in then, one hand pushing his pants the rest of the way off, the other balancing against the bed and he pulls them both into a three-way kiss that has all of them panting with anticipation.

“Off,” Steve says, reaching down to pull Sam’s jeans open, his fingers gripping Sam’s dick before he reaches down to cup Sam’s balls.  Sam sits up on his knees to finish the job, and Bucky bends his head to Sam’s chest, licking and sucking at one of Sam’s nipples in a way that makes Sam reach up and hold Bucky’s head to his chest, eyes flutter closed and head tossed back.  It’s the best thing Steve’s ever seen.

When Bucky pulls away, he looks down at Steve and sees he’s already hard again.

“You too?” he asks, his mouth curving to a smirk.

Sam chuckles.  “Sometimes he can go three, four times before he gets soft.  It’s goddamned exhausting,” he says, the same smirk playing at his lips.

“And now there’s two of us,” Steve says.  “Think we can make him tap out?” he asks Bucky.

“We can try,” Bucky says.

“Not on your life,” Sam says, before reaching out to take both of them in hand.  “You’re one behind, Barnes.”

Bucky groans, tips his head back for a moment before bringing his hand up to twine with Sam’s, both of them stroking up his length.

“Get me close,” he says and Steve leans up, rolls to the side to take Bucky in his mouth.  “Oh, fuck” Bucky says, then brings his hand to Steve’s hair.  Steve takes him in, presses the head of his cock against the roof of his mouth before taking him deeper.  He’s been wanting to do this for eighty years. Longer.

“Stevie,” Bucky gasps and then pushes away.  “Too much,” he says, his tone rueful.  “You’re both – it’s too much.”

Steve smiles, his eyes dark.  Doesn’t matter if it was too much, and if he has to wait and wait to do that again.  He’s had his mouth on Bucky.  His mouth.  Jesus.

Bucky leans down to kiss Steve again, swallows his moan as Sam does something and then Steve’s pulling away, staring at Sam and Sam’s staring at him, and Bucky watches as Sam presses into Steve.

Steve’s eyes roll back and he tosses his head, hands fisting the sheets.  Bucky strokes his cheek, bends low to whisper dirty things then kisses his way down Steve’s body before flicking his tongue over the tip of Steve’s prick.  Steve makes a cracked, broken sound and Bucky holds him steady.  Sam’s got both hands wrapped around Steve’s thighs, and he starts to move, slowly stroking in and out.

“Sam…Buck…Oh god, oh god.”

Bucky stands and leans in to kiss Sam, keeping his hand on Steve and stroking him slow and loose, keeping time with Sam.  When Sam pulls away, they both look down at Steve, who’s staring at the two of them, writhing, panting.

“He’s close,” Sam says to Bucky.

Bucky traces his fingertips over Steve’s balls, drawn tight already.

“Let’s make him messy,” Bucky says, then tightens his grip and strokes Steve with purpose.

“Buck, Buck!”  Steve comes, arching his back, toes curling, and Sam stills, closes his eyes and gathers himself for a moment.

“Shit, he feels good,” Sam says, looking at Bucky with lazy, half-lidded eyes.  “I fucking love him coming on my cock.”

Bucky grins, before leaning down to kiss the breath out of Steve.  He’s breathing hard, but not hard enough.

“Buck,” he says, and puts his hand on Bucky’s cock.  “Make me messy, come on.”

Bucky groans and gives in, lets Steve stroke his cock and it doesn’t take as long as he’d like, not really, before he’s tensing and then coming over Steve’s stomach, letting Steve jerk him through it.  He opens his eyes and looks at Steve and feels lost then, like his entire world has become unreal, untethered.

Sam puts a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, careful not to overstimulate him, trying just to steady him.  Bucky clutches at Sam’s hand, grateful, before turning to watch Steve, who’s fucking himself on Sam’s cock.

“Gonna go again, doll?” Bucky asks, trailing his fingers through the mess on Steve’s stomach.  “Open,” he says, and puts his wet finger in Steve’s mouth.  Steve latches on, groaning, and Bucky shivers.

“Jesus Christ, you two” Sam pants, fingers digging in to Steve’s thighs.

Bucky slides in behind Steve, propping him up on his lap, bending low to kiss Steve, stroking down his chest and tweaking his nipples.  Steve moans and arches, and Sam shudders.

“Sam, can you,” Steve starts and Bucky strokes his jaw.

“What do you need, baby?” Bucky asks.

“Faster, please.”

Bucky slides back and takes Steve with him, with Sam following on his knees.

“Hard and fast, baby?” Sam asks and Steve groans a yes.

Sam leans up on his elbows to kiss Bucky before turning his attention to Steve in earnest.  “Got one more?” Sam pants and Steve starts to shake, his thighs trembling, back arched as Sam fucks him hard.

“Come on, doll,” Bucky says, running his hands over Steve’s arms.  “Come on and show me.  Show me how good Sam fucks you, come on, baby.”

Steve cries out and comes again, this time long and hard and Bucky watches as Sam pulls out, stroking himself and coming all over Steve only a moment later.  He falls forward on his hands and Bucky pets them both down from their orgasms, pressing soft kisses against their hair, fingertips light and stroking.

“That was,” Sam pants, falling to the side of Steve.

“Beautiful,” Bucky finishes.  “Christ, you two are beautiful.”

Steve can feel that Bucky’s still hard behind him.  He looks down at the mess all over his stomach, the come pooling in his belly button and runs a finger through it before feeding it to Bucky.  He looks up, watches as Bucky takes the finger, his tongue poking out first, then sucks it into his mouth.

“So dirty,” he says, when he finally releases Steve’s finger.

“Can I suck you?” Steve asks, his eyes bright.  “Please, Buck, can I, will you let me?”

Bucky leans back against the headboard, his eyes going lust blown, pupils expanding as he takes in Steve.

“You want my dick, Stevie?  God, you wanna – fuck, yes, yeah, do that.  Suck me.”

Steve whines and turns over, taking Bucky into his mouth, holding him steady with one hand.

“Okay?” Bucky asks Sam.

“Fuck yes,” Sam says, watching them with lazy eyes.  “This is going right into the spank bank.”  He smirks and Bucky turns his attention back to Steve, who starts blowing him with enthusiasm.

It’s almost too much, and Steve’s half hard again already because he’s wanted, God, he’s wanted Bucky like this since he had his first wet dream.  Steve’s covered in come, dripping with it, getting it everywhere, and all he can think is that he wants more, wants to make Bucky come with his mouth, in his mouth, so that he can taste it, so that he can have him, right here, real and inside of him.

“Stevie, doll, look at you.  Christ, that’s good, you feel so good babydoll, so hot and wet all over me.”

Steve wraps a hand around the base of Bucky’s cock and begins to fuck the tip into his mouth, trapping it with his tongue against the roof of his mouth, sucking and swirling his tongue, making Bucky gasp.  He cups Bucky’s balls with one hand and strokes with the other.

“Fuck, doll, fuck.”  Bucky fists the sheets and throws his head back, and Steve groans low in his throat and begins to thrust against the sheets, trying to get more sensation on his cock.  Sam chuckles and slides his hand under Steve, gripping him and giving him something to fuck into.

“I think our boy’s going go again,” Sam says.

“I think both your boys are,” Bucky says, and reaches up to hold Steve’s head still as he thrusts up.  “Fuck, Stevie, just like that,” he says as Steve holds still and lets Bucky fuck his face. “Fuck, yeah, Stevie, I’m gonna, I’m gonna--”

 And Steve pulls back, aims Bucky’s cock at his face and Bucky comes with a shout just before Steve comes with a whine.

Bucky’s still panting as he drags his fingers across the mess on Steve’s face.  “Jesus, look at you,” he says, and then leans down to lick a line up Steve’s cheek, before Steve dives in for a kiss, licking the taste of Bucky’s come right out of Bucky’s mouth.

“I think you two are gonna kill me,” Sam says, and the three of them begin to chuckle.

“God, these sheets are a mess,” Bucky says, stretching his legs out and petting Steve’s hair.

“I’m a mess,” Steve says, pushing up onto his knees.  “Man, I need a shower.”

Bucky smiles up at Steve, then reaches over to run a hand down Sam’s arm, tangling their fingers together.

“We could all shower,” he says shyly.  

“Yeah,” Sam says.  “Yeah, we can.”

Sam follows his boyfriends into the bathroom, then into the warm of the shower.  It's too small, and there's not enough room, but they make it work.

They make it work.

 


End file.
